"What a common fellow!" cried Goody. "Can't he leave a respectable woman alone?"
"Aye," said the mussel, "when she doesn't go for me!"
"A wretched mussel like that!" she screamed. "A mollusc! He is much lower in rank than I and he dares to be impertinent. I have twenty-one pairs of legs and he knows it: how many has he?"
"Come along, with all the one-and-twenty!" said the mussel.
Goody went on scolding and then the reed-warbler interfered:
"Drop that strong language now," he said. "It doesn't matter about those legs. I have only two myself."
"I should be sorry to be found lacking in respect for you, Mr. Reed-Warbler," said the cray-fish. "I know who are my betters, right enough. But I can't understand how a fine gentleman like you can care to talk to one of those molluscs."
Scolding and grumbling, she withdrew to her hole, but left her head and claws hanging outside. The mussel opened his shell, but kept four or five of his eyes constantly fixed on Goody. These eyes were on the edge of the mantle which lay in the slit between the shells. As soon as the cray-fish made the slightest movement, he closed his shells at once:
"One's soft inside all right," he said. "But one shows the hard shell to the world."